The Tale of Two Spikes
by Megan'sChemicalRomance
Summary: Xander wasn't the only one to get hit in the City Dump during The Replacement. So what happens when a certain bleached blonde is split into his best and worst character traits? Please R
1. Smoke and Leather

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, no matter how hard I wish

Summary: What if Toth hit Spike with the ferula-gemina at the dump as well as Xander? Here's my take.

A/N: First fic, so please be nice :) please review to let me know your thoughts. Hopefully you'll enjoy it, but if you feel any improvements could be made, it'd be helpful if you could leave that in a review too :D

Okay, so... on with the story!

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Chapter 1: Smoke and Leather

Spike was pacing. He did that a lot nowadays. Ever since those guys in paintball outfits had shocked him, locked him up and put a hunk of metal in his cranium. That tiny scrap of computer technology that stopped his ability to harm humans.

_Bloody hell. I hate this. Can't hurt anyone. Can't even put the Slayer through enough torture to keep me happy. Pigs blood .Bloody awful pigs blood. That's what they've reduced me to. A harmless little puppy dog drinking Babes' blood to satiate myself._

Spike stopped his pacing. He was immensely frustrated. God how he hated those army men in their steel cap boots with their tasers and guns. They weren't so tough. Spike could take them in a heartbeat. Less as he didn't have one. But it all bowled down to that small chunk of metal lodged deep in his brain. That was the reason he was here in his crypt pacing instead of plotting and experimenting how to find the slayers weaknesses. That was why he'd turned against his own kind to exhaust his supply of fighting energy.

He jumped up onto his sarcophagus and lay down on it. He remembered the moment around 6 months ago when he realised he could hurt demons. It was in the old high school. The same school that was blown up not so long ago. Down in the basement, the latest apocalypse was occurring. He could picture it now.

"_Be careful you guys", cautioned Buffy. "Place doesn't look too stable"._

"_Fine by me. Hope we all go under", Spike mumbled._

_Buffy spun to Spike and whined, "Why is he even here?" Of course there really wasn't any point in him being here. He couldn't harm anyone. Spike didn't understand why, but Willow didn't want him to stake himself. Wonder why that was._

"_Fine, whatever. Just keep him out of the way. I do NOT have time for this", said Buffy. After walking a short way she continued, "Okay, when we get to the library, keep a look out for any victims they are keeping alive for the sacrifice. Getting them out is the first priority."_

"_Will do", said Willow. She looked around her with a sense of unease._

"_Okay guys, you ready?" asked Buffy._

"_Let's rock and roll" was Xander's reply. And with that, they walked on._

"_Sunnydale High. If these walls were still walls what stories they could tell", mused Xander. A few steps later there was a squelching sound. "Eww! Mayor meat. Extra crispy". Of course they had themselves blown up the school to stop the Ascension around 7 months previously. The mayor had morphed into a giant snake and with the help of all the students of the class of '99, they took on a large group of vampires' single handed, and then Buffy had led the mayor into school and blown him up using several large bags of explosives. This mass of rubble and "mayor meat" as Xander called it, was all that was left of it._

_Three deep voices chanting almost inaudibly roused Spike from his thoughts. They had reached the library._

"_Whoa. Check out the new floor plan", was all Willow could say, as stood in front of her, were three ugly green demons. Vahrall demons to be precise. They were crowded around a huge pit in the centre of what used to be Giles' sanctuary. There were pages everywhere, torn from their owners by the blast. The odd bookshelf strewn around. This was the Hellmouth now._

"_Three of them", stated Buffy. The one on the far left was holding a bag of something. Probably the bones for the ritual. The others were empty handed, yet all of them had extremely bad fashion sense._

_Willow's voice was wary as she said, "I don't see any sacrifice people"._

_Looking around, scrutinising the area, Buffy came to the conclusion that, "They must be around here somewhere. The ritual's not finished. And it's not gonna be". The sheer determination in her voice was aided by her forceful step forwards, towards the demons. Then the fighting began._

_Buffy swung a few good punches, and after a few more bone shattering swings, one of the demons dropped a red, rounded vial. Xander bounded forward and ducked below a blow aimed at his head, then he picked up the vial and yelled, "The blood! Get the talisman. They can't do the ritual"._

_Willow ran forward and, dodging the entangled mass of demon and Slayer, she grabbed the sack that the other demon had been holding. After announcing, "I've got the bones", she ran back to Xander and tossed the bag to him. Panicking, he threw it back and Willow ended the chain by hiding behind a wall, as a demon threw himself into a brawl with Xander._

"_You're picking on the--wrong guy here. I've had -- lot of practice at this with my-- lunch money", growled Xander whilst the demon punched him repeatedly in the stomach. He drew back his arm and whacked the demon in the face, letting himself free._

_A currently stationary Spike, who had been sat against a wall all the while, was forced to react suddenly, as Willow threw him the sack of bones._

"_Right. Perfect", said Spike as a demon came charging towards him to take a grab at the bag. The fight continued around him, but he had his own problem to worry about now. Whilst attempting to avoid a deadly blow to the head, he dropped the sack._

_As if a thought had occurred to him, the demon facing Xander stopped fighting, and plunged himself into the depths of the Hellmouth. A shocked Xander only managed to say, "Ok, I guess I won"._

_Almost ironically, his sentence was followed by a rumble deep below the floor. Everyone stood stunned for precious seconds. The first to recover was Xander who realised why there were no other people in the building._

"_The demons. They ARE the sacrifice!" Rubble was falling from the roof onto him, and the walls were shaking, but after a few seconds they subsided._

_Spike, who failed to escape a swing to the ribs, was the first to start moving which roused Buffy and made her start fighting again. Spike's head was thrown back as the demon thrust his fist into his face. This angered Spike, because at this point, he didn't believe he could fight back without pain. That excruciating pain through the centre of his brain, which would ripple through his body, and render him helpless for the few seconds needed to fight back successfully._

_Despite this though, he still hit him. The pain would be worth it. Bracing himself, and screaming all the while, he sent his arm flying through the air into a blow so vicious it would have knocked out any human being for at least two hours. Expecting pain, he slammed his hand to his forehead and drew an instinctive breath. However when the pain didn't come, he stood stunned for a while. He could hurt a demon._

This had completely changed his aspect on his unlife. He didn't have to sit back on the sidelines and watch Buffy kick ass. He could do some of the kicking himself.

So he did. He fought that day. Admittedly he threw the sacrifice into the Hellmouth, but they won in the end didn't they? He remembered that day vividly. Mainly because he learnt he could hurt his own kind, but a part of it was thanks to his lack of ability to be able to wash clothes. He'd shrunk his favourite outfit and was forced to wear that god-awful Hawaiian shirt of Xanders. If he never saw that shirt again, it would be too soon.

One good thing came from that day though. He realised that deep...deep...deep down, Xander cared what happened to him. A falling plank of wood had hit him and Xander rushed to his aid. It was the only real sign of affection he had really shown him.

Spike was brought back to reality by a knock on the door. This was strange as it was. No-one ever knocked. They busted the door down. Curiously, he got up off of his sarcophagus and strolled to the door.

"Oh. Hi Clem. What do you want?" asked Spike with an unintentional sharp edge to it.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to disturb you", said his visitor. He was the strangest looking person Spike had ever met. He had floppy ears and a really wrinkly face. But despite having the biggest bingo wings on the planet, he was one of the best poker players in Sunnydale.

"Don't mean to impose or anything, but I know you have the sweetest pad around and we seemed to be getting along quite well the other day--"

"What do you want, Clem? Yes, we were getting along. But that doesn't explain what you're doing here", said Spike bluntly.

"Well, umm. Okay, I'm an honest guy so I'll come out and say it--"; Spike pointed at him and signalled to get to the point. "Basically I need a place to stay for a night or two. The other guys won't let me stay with them. I tried at Jerry's but after he caught me hiding an ace with his X-ray vision the other night, he was a little, well, reluctant to let me stay over."

"Well I'm glad you consider me nice enough to stay with but I'm really busy here" replied Spike. _Not true, but who really knows what I could be up to tonight?_

Clem peered around Spike into the crypt. "You don't look awful busy". _He noticed. Bollocks._

"Okay. I tell a lie. But I am going to be busy. Soon". Spike avoided telling him he actually had no plan to do anything tonight. He'd have to think of something now.

"Oh really? What with? I could help", Clem smiled at Spike and he could see that Clem really would do anything to get inside his place for the night.

Reluctantly Spike resigned. "Fine. You can come in. But don't touch anything".

Clem became noticeably happier and almost bounced into the door. He half placed, half threw the basket he was holding on the sarcophagus and there was a soft mewing sound from inside. He took one look around the place and his spirits seemed to droop suddenly.

"What's wrong?" asked Spike, "You look like someone just beat your two pair with a straight flush". He thought he'd appreciate the poker related joke. He shut the door and spun towards where Clem was standing.

"Well, there isn't exactly much to touch. Even if I wanted to. Not that I would of course because it's your place and I wouldn't want to disturb anything--", Spike stared at Clem with a look of disbelief. He couldn't believe he had to tell him again to stop babbling nonsense. But he noticed Clem withdraw into himself and turn away.

Clem's comment however gave him an idea. He knew what he was going to do tonight.

"Well then. You're in luck. I was gonna go to the dump tonight and get some things to, you know, liven up the place. I could do with a person to look after it for me". He didn't want to leave him here in his place but he'd agreed to let him stay and he wanted to spend some time alone. He wasn't done thinking yet.

"Oh thanks Spike! I'd be happy to. You know I love your place". Clem stopped himself before he went too far for his own good.

Grabbing his leather duster of the arm of his chair, Spike took three strides to the door and said, "Don't wait up. I could be gone a while". At least he hoped. "And get your kittens off my sarcophagus would ya? That's my seat".

Slamming the door in Clem's smiling face; he strode off in the direction of the City Dump.

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Sunnydale Dump. What more was there to say; the population of Sunnydale throw out their rubbish, their rubbish goes to the dump, vampires then take said rubbish. It was the circle of life, or unlife if you're Spike.

So Clem thought he needed some stuff for his crypt. What better place to start than the City Dump? _Okay, I'm here. Gotta distract myself. I've just got to... ARGH! Damn Slayer; can't stop thinking about her. I wanna stop, but when I do I think up a reason to start thinking of her again. It's torture! Why won't it end!_

Spike grabbed a nearby wooden chair with three legs and threw it as far and hard as he could. He grasped his head and collapsed to his knees, his leather duster flowing around him and settling roughly on the floor beneath his trembling frame. _What's happening to me? Why do I feel this way?!_

Spike ran his fingers through his bleach-blonde hair back and forth. Back and forth, until his hair resembled that of a porcupine. He couldn't get his head around this. Didn't understand why he felt like he did. These thoughts about Buffy, thoughts about her and him... No! He wouldn't go there. Not tonight. He had work to do.

Almost as if it pained him to do so, he stood, and tried to calm his breathing. Even though it wasn't necessary to breathe, he was one of the few vampires that did. He and Angel were just two.

Angel.

_Bloody ponce with his nancy boy hair gel. Mr Tall Dark and Forehead thinks he's all that. I'm every bit as good as him. Better in fact. Way better! Angel fell for Buffy's spell but I'm stronger than him. He's weak in that way. He let Buffy get the better of him...but me? Ha! Buffy won't get to me. I won't let her. I can't._

_Buffy. Everything comes back to Buffy!_

Composing himself from his minor breakdown, and now fuelled by his anger for Angel and Buffy, he took off again and resumed his search.

Within two minutes, he came across a metal trolley with a slight dent in the side. Good enough. As long as it held his finds, he didn't care.

So, what does every house have? Even more importantly, what do all vampires houses have?

Spike rummaged through a pile of damaged furniture and fabric. He threw aside half of a curtain rail and stepped around a flower-printed armchair. After coming close to decapitation by a falling ironing board, he almost gave up his search, but all of a sudden, something shone in the corner of his eye. There, glinting in the moonlight was an aluminium toaster. Picking it up, he began to examine it carefully. Shiny. Definitely shiny. He felt a slight pang as he wished he could see his reflection to judge the damage his breakdown had done to his hair. Even worse, the gel he had in it had probably stuck it up. Maybe he could pass it as a straight-out-of-bed punk look.

Spike threw up the toaster and caught it swiftly with one hand, and approving of its currently undamaged status, dropped it into the trolley. He pushed off and after a few paces stooped to pick up a small metallic item. He shook it and heard a faint rattling, and as he held it to his ear, he noticed a gentle ticking.

Suddenly a sharp piercing shriek rang out from the tiny alarm clock he held level with his finely attuned ear. He jumped aside taken aback by surprise at the sudden racket, and sent his trolley flying in the opposite direction. With extreme difficulty, he recovered his balance and slammed the clock to shut off the alarm. He was left shaken and panting, but otherwise unharmed.

_Christ. That scared me more than the bloody Slayer EVER did. Maybe I should use this to get the advantage next time I do an ambush..._

Spike pondered this as he picked up his fallen trolley, (somewhat more dented than before), and replaced the toaster. Spike stared at it in wonderment. It had survived his attack surprisingly unscathed. Invincible toaster. Spike grinned in awe and placed his newest weapon in the trolley beside it.

Confident nothing could go much worse than his last incident, he dived almost headfirst into a stack of wooden frames. Wading waist deep in a sea of colour, he sorted through the range of paintings, until he found one which drew his attention.

It was a moonlit evening and the lake was streaked with greens and purples as the moon cast its rays upon it. There were smooth lily pads floating gracefully on the surface, and an assortment of coloured fish dipping in and out of the surface, creating delicate ripples in their wake.

There was an arched bridge of fine oak which extended from the centre of the lake to the outer circle of exotic flower beds. An expansive willow tree hung low over the lake and cast abstract shadows across the young couple who clung to each other, binded as if by an invisible force.

The female wore a dress of fine white silk which hugged to her hips but flowed in an intricate pattern of yellow embroidered flowers to the finely cut grass. She had a slender figure with slim arms and legs, yet somehow with a hint of muscle. She had dainty feet, and she stood barefoot and on tiptoes. Her long blonde curls streamed down past her thin pale neck, and came to rest on her shoulders. Her full pink lips were half pouting, and her head was tilted slightly upward. One of her hands rested on her partners shoulder, and the fingers of the other were intertwined with that of the tall male she hugged close to herself.

Although she were on tiptoe, she was a full twelve inches shorter than him. He wore a shirt of white satin, the first two buttons left open. Below the thin material, the finely worked muscles of his chest were curved as he leant down over his lady in an almost protective hold. His lean figure seemed more prominent next to this petite woman, yet they looked comfortable with each other. His flawless features and sallow cheeks made his large cheekbones show. Nevertheless, this only enhanced his beauty, and not even the bleach-blonde hair could break the peace and ease that this couple revelled in.

Spike felt an instant shock of recognition at the picture, and realised that the man and woman looked exactly like himself and...

Buffy.

The woman was an exact double of the one that haunted Spike. Had done for a long time. Yet this picture was one of pure perfection. The only conclusion the Spike could draw was that when he looked at this picture, his breath caught, and he knew deep down, that this picture moved him emotionally.

Carefully, so as not to send an avalanche of wood onto himself or the picture, he manoeuvred himself into a position where he could extract it without damage. Once it had been removed, he walked out of the ruined paintings and splintered frames, and held his new possession before him. With a nod of satisfaction, he placed it gently in the trolley, and made to move off to the next section.

He was lost in his thoughts, pushing his trolley before him, when the handle was sent into his ribs, and he realised he had crashed into a fridge freezer. It was what was on top of the freezer however that intrigued him. It was the head of a mannequin, and with it, a blonde wig not unlike the hair of the woman in the picture. _It kinda looks like Buffy. No, it looks like the painting. Compromise. Not Buffy, the woman. God that woman is beautiful. Sod it, let's go for it._

Spike lifted the mannequin off the fridge and placed it in the trolley amongst his other belongings. Satisfied that he had enough for tonight, he headed in the direction of the exit.

He was almost at the gate when he saw a lamp, with a purple lampshade. He thought he could do with a lamp, and it was the only one he'd seen all night that was only slightly broken. He picked up the lamp, and was about to leave, when he heard voices. He knew those voices. Furrowing his brow in concentration, he listened intently to the approaching group. Five of them. Maybe he could go and give them a scare while he was here. _Hell, get the soddin' alarm clock on 'em. That'll teach em._

Spike stepped around the corner and froze.

"What are you doing here Spike?"

_Bollocks! I could ask her the same question._

Spike shifted his weight and stared blankly and Buffy and the gang.

"Oh, there's a nice lady vampire who's set up a charming tea room over the next pile of crap. What do you think I'm doing? I'm scavenging, ain't I?"

Spike lifted the arm holding his lamp and shook it gently to emphasize the point.

"Very pretty", said Willow smiling approvingly in Spike's general direction.

Spike tilted his head in that oh-so-adorable way as thanks.

"Spike, um, we're looking for a demon. Erm, tall, robed, skin sort of…hanging off. Deep voice", said Giles whilst gesturing wildly. Giles couldn't say anything without gesticulating.

"You mean a great tall robe-y thing like that one?" Spike pointed with his lamp at said great tall robe-y thing with a look of mock surprise.

The gang spun in the direction Spike was pointing, and at the same time Toth started shooting frantically with his creepy-stick-thing. Yellow bolts of light cut through the air like broken glass as it flew at lightning speed towards Willow.

"Take cover!" shouted Riley as he dived to Willow's rescue and threw himself in a protective hold around her fragile body and hurled them both to the ground.

Toth shot another piercing bolt at Buffy who ducked aside, agile as a cat. She landed viciously in a pile of hardware equipment, to Spike's liking.

"Big guy! Kick her ass!"

He was enjoying this. Seeing the Slayer being shot at while he watched innocently at the sidelines was great fun! Better than playing with his toaster even.

Toth turned at the sound of Spike's voice and obviously saw him as a threat, as he decidedly fired a blazing hot bolt searing through the air like a scythe through demon flesh. The blast powered into his chest like a charging bull and Spike was thrown to the ground in a heap of smoke and leather.

He sat up with seemingly little difficulty and after shaking his head a bit, he bellowed, "Oh very nice, I was on your side!" whilst simultaneously discarding the shattered remains of his briefly beloved lamp.

He stood up slowly, favouring his right side, and straightening up, he stretched his arms above his head. He immediately regretted this move however, and he ran his hand under his jacket to find a holey shirt and a small trail of smoke emerging from the golf ball sized burn on his chest. Wincing somewhat, he rolled his shoulder and frowned at his attacker.

Toth turned his back on the sulking vampire and returned his attention to the task at hand. He pointed his creepy-stick-thing at Buffy, and Xander sent himself at her shouting "Watch out!" The blast missed its intentional target, but hit Xander instead, who landed in a bed of bin bags.

Realising he would not be able to complete his task, Toth left satisfied that he had done sufficient damage to occupy the Slayer all the while.

Riley helped Xander out of the pile of bags, and limping, he dragged himself in wake of the rest of the gang.

What they didn't see though, was the rising figure of a vampire in game face. This vampire...was Spike. Looking down at where he had fallen, he saw...no. It couldn't be. Confused and beaten, Spike ran.

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Thanks for reading, lemme know what you thought :)

MoozellyMoogle


	2. From Dawn to Dusk

Disclaimer and summary on Chapter One :)

A/N We see how the Spike's react now that dawn has arrived. The sun is up. What will happen? Dun dun duuuuuuuuuun. :D There were a few bits I was worried about with this chapter. Still not sure if it works. Please R&R and let me know how it sounds :)

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Chapter 2 - From Dawn to Dusk:

A blackbird pecking hesitantly at a rotten banana skin took flight as a nearby bin bag seemed to propel itself across the sky, in an amazing display of speed and twirling, whilst managing to keep most of its contents inside. The reason for said acrobatic-bin-bag came in the form of Spike.

The bleach blonde vampire rose awkwardly from the ground, stretching his arms above his head, his duster lifting accordingly to expose his ankles. He lifted his hand to shade his eyes from the sun and blinked as they adjusted. With a reaction not dissimilar to that of when his clock trilled in his ear, he realised he was vulnerably exposed. He dived frantically into a sea of bin bags where he had previously risen from, in a desperate attempt to escape the sun's rays. He was expecting the smell of smoke as his skin burned but when it didn't come he lifted his head from between his knees, a bewildered look in his eye.

_Okay, the sun is shining down, but in an apparently non fatal way. Not that I'm not glad I'm not dust, but this can't be good. What the bloody hell is going on?_

Warily, still half-expecting the firework display that would be him any second, he pushed his way forward through the assortment of brightly coloured bags full of other peoples rubbish, and arose to the sight of the breaking dawn. Curiosity got the better of him and he locked his gaze on the sun and shook his head in wonderment whilst grinning a crooked half-smile all the while. He wasn't burning. He was apparently far from it at the moment, so he might as well enjoy the moment. Spike removed his duster and threw it aside; spreading his arms wide to absorb every possible particle of sun he could, only slightly wincing as the welt in his chest throbbed. With a contented sigh, his chest heaved heavily and relaxed. He could get used to this.

A vague rustling from his left pulled him from his reverie. After a moment of silence, Spike saw a shadow of a movement and heard another faint mutter. Spike turned toward the noise and side-stepped slowly in the direction of it.

"Anya...? You trying to use the hotplate again...?" mumbled the heap.

Stepping slowly forward, the heap began to take form before Spike as a rather scruffy looking Xander pushed aside a bag, and opened his eyes. He wrinkled his nose at the awful stench of the dump, and batted a few flies away from his face.

"Uh-oh".

Propping himself up on one elbow he surveyed his surroundings, and his eyes finally came to rest on a bemused Spike.

"What are you doing here Whelp?"

"I could ask you the same thing" muttered Xander. It became apparent at the exact moment that he had noticed the lack of spontaneous combustion from Spike. Reacting instinctively he threw himself backward as best as he could in his current position, and failed miserably. His only reward for his sudden thrashing was a banana skin on his head and a raised eyebrow and chuckle from Spike.

"How? What? How?"

Considering these three questions, which proved to be all Xander could manage, Spike reached down and closing his eyes against the throb in his chest, waited for him to accept his hand. When all he got was a perplexed look and a blink he straightened up and strolled over to where his now somewhat grubby duster lay.

"Have it your way then", said Spike. Stretching to retrieve his jacket, he heard Xander get up and start to walk toward him. He shook his jacket to relieve it of any unwanted dust, and satisfied it was clean enough, he began to swagger from the dump. When he heard the shuffling of Xander behind him, he spun and stopped in his tracks, bringing a stumbling Xander to a halt in front of him.

"Do you want a hand mate? Or are you gonna keep following me like a lost little puppy dog till I tell you to get lost?" said Spike.

"Why would _you_ wanna help _me?_" questioned Xander.

Pondering this for a second Spike replied,

"I'm not sure exactly. You gonna accept my help or not? I'm not gonna waste my day standing around jabbering on to you otherwise. I got me some adventuring to do". Spike raised his head posing heroically, and realising he'd just done this in public quickly removed his hand from his hip and lowered the other, which had curled into a fist. He coughed and shifted his weight as Xander waited for him to recover.

"Okay there's way too much of the strange right now. First", Xander counted out one finger, "I woke up in the city dump. Secondly", another finger joined the first, "You aren't a pile of dust. And thirdly...you offered me help not once, but twice". He scratched his head and screwed his eyes up in what seemed to be concentration.

Spike raised his eyebrows as a way of showing his impatience at his lack of answer. Xander shook his head and looking uncomfortable in his current situation declined his offer and just managed to mutter a half-hearted word of gratitude before hurrying off.

Deciding that this last conversation was worth a decent break, Spike thought about what he could do today. He had over 120 years of sun soaking to catch up on after all. A Thursday. Spike preferred Fridays: Passions was on. Looking around him for inspiration, he spotted his trolley of goodies and began to reminisce the events of the night before. The attack by Toth (Spike gingerly prodded the welt in his chest). The painting. The clock and toaster. His breakdown over Buffy.

_And we're back to her again. Bloody hell even when I try having a good day she's there haunting me._

Kicking at the stones in minor frustration he began to wonder why he wasn't more annoyed. He would normally be fuming over having these thoughts, but today he seemed to be relatively calm about it. _Maybe it's the sun_ he thought.

Putting these thoughts aside, he continued on what he had been planning the previous night. Making sure each item was there he pushed off out of the dump in the direction of his crypt. He reached up and scratched his head and suddenly realised where he'd been. He must look a right state. _This will be interesting to explain to Clem._ He ruffled his hair and tried to smooth it down hoping that it looked at least a little better.

Today was a glorious day. The sun was beating down and it was about 40 degrees centigrade with clear blue skies and not a cloud in sight. The birds were singing gleefully in the treetops and children were playing happily in the parks. If only they knew how apart from this Spike was. They would have had no idea that the man in the leather jacket with bleached hair pushing a trolley of goods was really a vampire that had been attacked by a demon and had spent the night in the dump because of it. Making his way towards the graveyard he stopped and noticed a small clump of flowers. He knelt down and running his fingers over the petals lightly he thought about how much better they looked during the daytime.

"_In fields of green the flowers dance._

_Those peaceful times when deer will prance._

_Winding through trees so happily._

_So full of joy and ecstasy_".

Spike muttered these words without even knowing why or where they'd come from, and only then did he realise he had company. Wincing as he prepared to identify his guest, he turned his face guiltily upwards ready for the onslaught he would receive.

"Well that was ... certainly something" admired Clem warily.

"Man am I glad to see you", said Spike, rising fluidly from the ground.

"What was that? Just then? Something about flowers and deer? That was weird. And where were you last night? I waited for you so I could help you unpack your finds" ranted Clem as he turned to rummage curiously through Spike's newly acquired treasures. _Worse than a mother of a teenager_ thought Spike.

"If you want the truth I actually have no idea what I was thinking. What was that?! I shouldn't be going around picking flowers. Next thing you know I'll be wearing a toga and prancing about like a ponce in a poppy field" whined Spike. Sensing his guest's unease, he continued on his journey to his crypt, pouting slightly in annoyance.

"Wait up there Spike ... whoa." Clem gasped in horror and when Spike turned around he gave him a look as if to say yes-I-know-I'm-not-on-fire-are-you-coming-or-not? Not wanting to be left out here by himself, Clem followed his friend hurriedly through the rest of the graveyard.

When they reached the crypt, they entered and lay the contents of the trolley out on his sarcophagus. Clem appraised each item and finally approved of Spike's hard night's work. But a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"You never told me earlier where you'd been all night. What, did you sleep in the dump or something?" Clem laughed as if dismissing the idea. Spike looked at him with a look of complete disbelief that he'd guessed exactly what had happened and had thought it was a stupid idea. Taking in Spike's expression, Clem stopped laughing and said,

"_Did_ you spend the night in the dump?" asked a shocked Clem. Spike looked down and inspected his shoes. Scuffed. They'd have to be replaced soon. He looked up and saw the Clem staring at him waiting for an answer.

"Okay fine. Yes I spent the night there" sighed Spike. He knew he should tell him about the demon, but he knew he already had more pressing matters.

"Before you ask, yes I can walk in the sun now. I dunno how. But isn't this a good thing? No more running wildly through town with people pointing going 'Hey look at the man with the blanket over him'. I mean can you imagine?" Spike was standing closer to Clem now, clasping the air between them with an odd twinkle in his eye. Clem supposed that it would be a good thing. A vampire who can go in the sun. Even if they didn't know why. It was too much for Clem to take in.

"But how? How could something like this happen? I just – it doesn't –" Clem stammered to a halt. He felt like he was going to collapse from shock, and sensing as much, Spike helped him to his favourite chair. He himself squatted on the floor and settled himself comfortably, resting his arms on his knees. However the slight hint of pain that flitted through his eyes didn't go unnoticed. Realising his mistake too late, Spike lifted his chin until he was looking at Clem fully and purposefully.

"Right my friend. We have some decorating to do. Let's get started shall we?"

The change of subject was obvious but no doubt necessary. Nevertheless Clem jumped at the opportunity to help re-decorate. Spike seemed particularly chirpy today. Perhaps the sun had done him good.

Springing lightly on his feet Spike bounded towards the sarcophagus and began to sort through his new belongings. Nothing like a good crypt-make-over to cheer up a vampire. As Clem joined him, they began the discussion that would lead to many others throughout the day.

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

The old warehouse was barely more than a burned out husk. The charred building was untouched, and he was faintly surprised to see it still standing. It wasn't the most comfortable setting, but the derelict remainder of the hideout he had used what seemed an age ago would suffice to shelter him from the sun's deadly rays.

The vampire was pacing. Again it seemed. He could see red. He was barely even bothering to avoid the obstacles in his way anymore. A chair here, a storage box there. He simply thrust them aside in his untargeted rage.

Spike was in game face. And despite his best efforts, he couldn't get out of it. This angered him more every time he tried it. And he'd been trying for hours.

After the attack by Toth, Spike has found himself in what seemed like an almost unharmed condition. Sure his right side was a little sensitive from the blast but he'd heal from that soon enough. It was what happened after that made him panic. _How could this have been possible? Can a guy not go scavenging without gettin' bloody split in half? Ha. I almost forgot. This is Sunnydale... course ya can't._ Of course when he'd stood to leave for home, he had noticed someone lying on the floor. Him. But _not_ him. How could it be? He was standing right there.

He bet Buffy and her gang of wanna-be-Slayerettes were behind it. _I mean yeah sure they were being shot at too, but maybe it was all a set up. Yeah, they're capable of that. Get some friends from beyond the human eye; shoot a few fire-bolts; and then have Xander get bibbidy-bobbedy-bood by the magic man. _Seemed simple enough.

Spike muttered a threat to the air, letting a strangled snarl escape from his chest, thinking maybe the poison in his voice would carry to its intended receiver. "I'll get you for this. I'll find you and you'll never know I'm coming. Not until it's far too late".

* * *

Thursday afternoon. 3:23. The clock sat ticking lightly on the side table and Spike let his attention wander from it, to the rest of the room. The toaster gleamed elegantly in the muted light of the crypt and the mannequin sat comfortably in the cubby hole near the back of the room. Clem was stood in a trance like state in front of a picture frame. He'd been there for a full five minutes without moving and Spike was beginning to wonder what his demonic friend was thinking. However he decided to leave him to his thoughts a while longer because he'd delved into his chest full of all his books ten minutes ago and had been reminding himself of some of them.

He'd recently come across the play _An Inspector Calls – J.B Priestly_. First produced in 1945 in Germany. Spike remembered it well. He rather liked this play. Saw it the first time it came out too. He loved the part where Sheila and Eric, the children, stood against their parents and tried to get them to see how they'd all contributed to Eva Smiths death. Just gripping. And that Ralph Richardson. The first person ever to play Inspector Goole. He was a nice bloke. Spike remembered congratulating him on getting his knighthood. Friendly guy. Tasted good too. He kinda missed him.

Caught in the memories of 1983, Spike never noticed when Clem awoke from his state of apparent admiration and wandered almost lifelessly from the crypt. His eyes had an odd emptiness but Spike wasn't watching. He opened the door and walked out, without closing it behind him. A sudden gust of wind blew it shut with a bang. This however he did notice. Looking up from the book, he realised Clem wasn't there. Odd. Spike scanned the room thinking maybe he'd gone somewhere else, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Then Spike remembered the slamming door. _Must of been him. Maybe he forgot about a poker tournament and had to run. Woulda been nice for a goodbye though._ Spike shrugged and replaced the book in his chest. It didn't matter anyway, just meant that he could get away to do what he'd been planning earlier.

The discussion they'd begun at the very beginning was the many possibilities of Spike's current inflammable situation. He could go outside in the sun. There were so many things he wanted to do. He could feel the cool afternoon breeze through his hair or stroll along the water's edge, feel the warm water run freely between his bare toes.

The beach. That's what he'd decided he wanted to do. Enjoy a few hours walking the beach. He'd done it many times before at night, but he had no memories of what it might feel like to have the grains of sand brushing his feet, the sand warmed gently by the sun. Spike had settled on it and had decided that he was going to go today. 4 o'clock. 5 minutes time. Placing his hands on his thighs he lifted himself from his chair and grabbed his duster. He put one arm in and decided that there was no need for it. He wanted to enjoy this to the full. Removing his arm from his jacket he thought he'd do a test run to make sure his condition hadn't worn off. Spike strolled to the door and opened it a fraction, enough to let in a bright beam of light. Hesitantly, Spike reached out and brushed his fingers lightly along the edge of the beam, before putting his whole hand into it.

Nothing.

His pale white skin intensified the sunlight, and the tendons on the back of his hand created intricate shadows along it. _This is crazy. Yet absolutely amazing at the same time._ Spike grinned and chuckled foolishly. He felt like an idiot, one hand still held in the air before him. Opening the door slowly, Spike took a breath and gasped as he felt the heat spread like wildfire through his body. He was burning. He'd never felt heat like this before. The warmth was incredible. Waves of it seemed to flow through his body. His closed eyelids turned a fierce orange, which slowly became red. Spike stepped forward.

He opened his eyes and saw before him the graveyard. He was okay. He examined his body and saw nothing different to how he'd been before he left the crypt. He'd felt like he was burning, but it wasn't the horrible painful burning he had before. This was a more subtle glow around his entire being. How could he have not remembered this? This feeling of immense happiness and contentment. Placing this memory securely in his brain he smiled to himself and set off.

On his way to the beach Spike had a thought about maybe taking a look at some poetry books on his way back. He wasn't sure why but he suddenly had an interest in it that was more prominent than before. He wrote this down on his mental notepad and continued his journey.

A few minutes later a sudden realisation came to him. He hadn't had a drink of blood in a while, yet he felt only a slight pull for it. That triggered another frantic thought. He hadn't so much as thought of going into game face all day. He was beginning to wonder what would happen if he tried it. He was out in the sunlight, yet he wasn't sure if going into game face would render him helpless until nightfall. Maybe it would pull down the barrier that had formed to protect him from the UV rays.

Now curious, Spike crossed the road and brushed shoulders with a man at a payphone without noticing. He heard a faint argument coming from his direction however but decided not to find out what was going on. Even so, some of the words drifted to his ears;

"No, it ate my quarter. Uh-huh. But see, I'm sort of having this aggressively bad day. Ooh! I found a quarter! I found a quarter! ... Well, ma'am, for me it _is_ worth getting excited about".

Spike carried on into the alleyway and disappeared round the corner. However if he'd have looked up at the man he'd walked into he'd have noticed a bewildered Xander hiding badly from someone he himself couldn't see. Dropping his last quarter, Xander was suddenly dumbstruck. There was Spike strolling through the streets. Yet Xander's suave-self had just walked past. Xander was now faced with a predicament._ Follow Spike. Follow me. Spike, me, Spike, me._ His moment of indecision was interrupted by seeing Spike turn abruptly round a corner. Xander stopped hopping from one foot to the other, _when did I start doing that?_ and hung up the phone, oblivious to the muttered hello on the other end.

Waddling along hurriedly to keep up with Spike, Xander stuck his hand out and caught hold of the lamp post on the corner, swinging himself not-so-gracefully to come face to face with the bleached blonde. He skidded to a halt and blinked to check that what he was seeing was right.

"Spike? Are you okay? Do you need something? Like a...X-Lax maybe?"

Spike looked at Xander then and realised how he could have come to the conclusion that he must look at least a little constipated. Spike stopped screwing his eyes up and relaxed his muscles. Spike sighed in defeat and looked guiltily at Xander.

"Think you're funny do you Whelp? I mean, after all...I don't think I'm the one in need of a laxative". Spike smirked at Xander's non-understanding expression and after a few seconds Xander gasped and replied with a rather feeble,

"Yeah? Well...so's your face".

Spike rolled his eyes and continued what he was doing before. When it became apparent that it wasn't working he turned to Xander and thought he may as well tell him his problem.

"Since you came through all this trouble _just_ to offer me a laxative, I think you're entitled to know what my problem actually is" said Spike sarcastically.

Xander looked at Spike suspiciously and said,

"_Do_ you need one?" Spike simply growled at him and grinned when he flinched.

"If you don't wanna know you could always walk away. I'm sure your demon lady is probably waiting for another shag right about now." Spike chuckled at Xander's nervous yet guilty expression. Spike sighed and thought he probably should get to the point.

"Right. Well. If it's any interest to you I umm...I...I can't go into game face okay? ...Stop looking me like that"

"You mean with my eyes? 'Cos I'm pretty sure I can't look at you any other way" Xander laughed at himself and pointed to his face in an I-made-a-funny kinda way. At another growl from Spike, Xander stopped laughing and cleared his throat with a not-so-subtle cough which sounded more like a choking duck.

"Okay. So you can't go into game face. So what? You can also walk in the sun. There's a lot of weird stuff going on round here recently". Spike sensed there was a little more to Xander's words but he seemed reluctant to want to talk about it.

"What d'you reckon's wrong with me? I mean it's great. The sun feels so amazing. I can't help but smile when it touches my skin". Spike stopped, coughed and dropped his voice three octaves to his normal voice before continuing. "But I just don't understand how it happened. I was out scavenging, got hit by some demon guy and woke up in the dump in broad soddin' daylight. How does that work?"

"I dunno Spike. I wish I did. Hey, maybe Buff's got some idea. You should try asking her". At the mention of Buffy's name Spike's ear prickled and his eyes glistened for a split second. Xander however seemed not to notice.

"Okay, well I gotta go follow...me. See ya round. Maybe. Good luck with the face thing". Xander waved half heartedly and side stepped awkwardly from the alley and disappeared into the afternoon shopping crowds.

* * *

_Later..._

He needed more than just one cup of blood. He didn't need to drink it to know he craved it. Much more than normal. This was almost a physical stabbing in his gut. He ran the fingers of one hand over his face, tracing the contours of the bumps, finally coming to rest at the corner of his mouth. Parting his lips in what could have been mistaken for a grin or a snarl, he caressed he teeth, searching for the fangs he knew were bared. Sighing with a mixture of defeat and what seemed to be sadness, he closed his mouth and held his hands over his deadened eyes, pushing his thumbs into them to block out his thoughts. If he didn't get some blood to drink soon God knows what it'd do to him. Maybe he'd go crazy. _Heck, I'm already crazy_.

And indeed it seemed like it. He hadn't realised until now, but he'd been murmuring to himself. Only a few words reached him through the numb barrier he'd erected in his mind.

...Chip.

...Slayer.

...Bloody lamp.

Re-opening his eyes in a startlingly quick movement, he found himself shooting a piercing glance at a mirage. Probably caused by his stunt with his thumbs. He was staring at the cocky, smiling figure of one of the Scoobies. There was a hint of humour in their eyes. Not a petite blonde as he'd come to expect. A newbie. An unlikely face to go unnoticed. Spike was casting daggers at the motionless form of military man Riley Finn.

_What's he doing here? Why'd it have to be this class-A idiot laughing at me? Torturing me?_

Not bothering to keep his menacing thoughts contained Spike yelled, "Damn you! YOU did this to me! This pain! It hurts so much and you did this. It's all your fault". Spike was shouting loudly at the fading form, but there was an edge to his voice now. Odd. His vision was beginning to blur as he continued his tirade at nothing now.

"You made me like this. You and him. You planned this together didn't you? Didn't you? _Answer me!_", Spike bellowed, having seemingly switched his target to a certain blond female. His cheeks dampened quickly, the bumps which were his most prominent vampire trait forming rivers down his face. An ocean seemed to be expanding at his feet. His emotions rushed through his tears to join it, wanting to be free and out of their human bonds. And Spike let them. He slumped, sobbing as he tried to regain control of himself. But that wasn't happening. Not just yet.

Succumbing to his misery, Spike fell onto his side, his cheek pressed firmly to the now glistening stone. He closed his eyes firmly and allowed himself to cry. And kept crying until finally there was nothing left but a hollow emptiness. He didn't understand this. These strong emotions. Anger. No .. rage. And sadness. A lot of it. He lay there unmoving, staring out of the window now. Seven o'clock. He guessed by the fact that the single deadly ray of sunshine has lessened somewhat, and the slither of visible sky was rapidly turning a burnt umber.

Time to move soon. It was nearly twilight. He was thirsty. And he had some business to take care of. He'd already made his decision. Sitting awkwardly, holding his right side delicately, he ran his jacket sleeve briskly across his face removing the last hint of this recent event, the rising and falling not going missed even in that quick action. He rose carefully and purposefully until he faced the exit. Squinting slightly in concentration, he sucked in a deep breath, his breathing catching and running jagged through his long-useless lungs.

Setting his mind at the task at hand, he began the slow journey through the warehouse and out into the street, heading for his crypt. He needed to make a stop, but he'd soon be heading for the Summer's residence. He hoped they'd cleaned up recently. They were about to have company.

* * *

A/N What did you think? The bit with the poem he said and the breakdown...I wasn't sure if they seemed like the kinda thing he'd do but I guess what with the whole split-in-two-ness maybe he's allowed a bit of randomness :D And just so everyone knows I researched about Ralph Richardson and kinda had to improvise. I also studied the play at school so there are a few bits I know about :) Please review with any improvements I could make. They are muchly appreciated :)


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